


recycle

by havisham



Series: havisham's SASO 2017 works collection [77]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: For Kuroko-kun, who remembers his past lives.





	recycle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO Bonus Round 7: Free-For-All, for [the prompt:](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/25713.html?thread=16366193#cmt16366193) miragen/miragen (pick your favorites or everybody), i am disturbed by my past lives / sometimes i imagine i see them watching me. / many voices and faces, like we have all met at a particular point in a journey.

Kuroko remembered his past lives -- at least, he knew that he’d had past lives, and that there were certain people who would eventually show up in this one, since they’d always done so before. They’re always echoes of echoes, never quite completely the person they’d been before, but also never truly someone new, or different. 

In truth, after the first few cycles, Kuroko had gotten sick of them.

After a few thousand cycles, he’d hated them. 

*

Aomine was always first and Kuroko thought he might have been the one he’d loved best, the first time. Aomine never remembered his past lives and barely heeded the signs and warnings of his present one. But Aomine always came and plucked Kuroko out of obscurity, the burning white light that made the shadows all the darker. There was one cycle where Kuroko, through various schemes and outright lies, had managed to spend almost his whole life as Aomine’s shadow. 

But the problem with shadows were that they were easily forgotten, and Kuroko did not love being forgotten. That life had ended violently and quickly, but the comfort was that Aomine had left the same time he had, in the same way. 

*

Kise always chased him, no matter what life they were in. In one life, Kuroko, sick of the chase, had capitulated to him -- he had been born a woman in that cycle and Kise, a man. They’d married and had several children who were more like Kise and than they were like Kuroko. That had been one of Kuroko’s quieter lives, and perhaps one of his happier ones. 

But the problem with Kise was that he was not enough. With him, Kuruko always grew impatient, eager for the others who Kise could only imitate. 

*

Sometimes Kuroko and Midorima were enemies and sometimes they were allies. They were rarely friends, however, and that to Kuroko seemed just. Sometimes, there was a flicker of recognition in Midorima’s eyes, the first time they’d meet in a life, and Kuroko longed to ask if he remembered, if he knew which cycle they were in, and how many there were left to go. 

But Midorima never admitted that he remembered and Kuroko never asked. He’d learned caution in one his earlier lives and would never forget it. 

*

Every successive life Murasakibara lived, he grew more and more sick of it all. “Eh, Kurochin,” he said, crunching on a sesame seed candy, “why do we have to do this again?” 

“I don’t know, Murasakibara-kun,” Kuroko said, wiping off the sweat from his brow. “Maybe we keep making some mistake that we have to correct before we can move on.” 

“I think it’s bad,” Murasakibara said with a vindictive crunch of candy against his strong, white teeth. “Making us go through junior high school again. Isn’t it mean?” 

*

“Akashi-kun, do you remember?” Kuroko asked him once and Akashi’s eyes flashed alarmingly. Kuroko never asked him again. 

*

He didn’t always meet Kagami during his lives. When he did, he knew that this particular cycle would be a good one, and he was usually right. Kagami never remembered what it was like before, and Kuroko never reminded him. 

It was enough that he found him again, it was enough to stop looking for now.


End file.
